Stark's Kid
by abelslade2319
Summary: Peter struggles to confront a past to an uncertain future, but with the help of Tony and the Avengers, he might just make it out better than he thought. Crappy summary, but let me know what you think! First time venturing into this fandom.
1. Nightmares

He felt the dust clog his lungs, felt each particle as it enveloped him so completely all he could think was _I failed him. I failed him._

Peter Parker, decked out in all things Spiderman, felt his pulse racing beneath the flimsy suit, felt the darkness encroaching upon his very self until he felt so very small; just a lone arachnid about to be demolished, squished under a very big boot.

"Please," he whispered, "please."

Hot tears coursed down his dirty cheeks, plowing twin trails of clean, unmarred skin amidst the dirt. "Please."

A loud groan shattered the relative silence and Peter felt the distinct shift of rubble as the building began to shift ever so lower. The slab of concrete above him sank further, stopping mere inches before it reached Peter's heaving chest. His back was against the ground, or what he supposed was the ground, and his unmasked face stared up at the building's remains that were about to crush him.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Mr. Stark," Peter said, for the first time his voice at full volume, echoing around the small enclosure that had so far kept Peter alive.

And then it all came tumbling down.

With a gasp Peter jackknifed off the bed, his breathing loud and erratic to his own ears, pulse pounding in his head, his body felt too hot, too hot. He struggled with the blankets tangled around his body, felt the ceiling descending towards him, felt the air get heavier and heavier until he _couldn't breathe_.

"Peter!"

Tony Stark watched his kid full body flinch away from him, watched with wide eyes as those big brown doe eyes skittered across the room to settle on the billionaire. The sheer _terror_ he saw there nearly broke his heart. He lifted his hands in mock surrender, "It's okay, Peter, it's just me, just good ol' Tony, okay?"

The kid's breathing was fast and heavy, his pupils blown wide. Tony knew the signs of a panic attack when he saw one and he could only thank god FRIDAY had woken him when Peter had shown the first signs of distress.

"Hey," Tony said softly, recapturing those teary eyes with his own, pouring every ounce of understanding and love into his gaze as he could. "You're safe, Peter, you're _safe._ I'm here and nothing's going to get you while I'm here, right?"

A hiccupping sob broke free from Peter's stuttering breaths and Tony couldn't take it anymore. He crossed the room in five quick strides and gathered the quivering boy up in his arms. "It's alright, kiddo, I've got you." He repeated the words over and over, hoping at least his voice would get through to his kid. He gripped Peter tighter when the kid's knees buckled, gently sinking to the floor and bringing Peter down into his lap, cradling him tightly to his chest.

"Please," Peter whispered, his voice muffled by Tony's shirt, one fist crumpling a fistful of the soft material, "Please, please, please."

"Hey, hey," Tony demanded, drawing slightly away from Peter's face, cupping the kid's cheek in a palm and turning his head up. "Breathe like me, kiddo, match your breaths to mine." He shifted the shaking form in his lap, drew Peter's back firmly against his chest and took steady, measured breaths.

He could feel Peter trying to slow his breathing, felt the quivering inhales and exhales as the shudders slowed and Peter slowly relaxed back into Tony's chest.

"Good job, Pete," Tony praised, dropping his chin on his kid's soft curls. "Just like that."

"Dad," Peter rasped, turning in Tony's embrace and wrapping his thin arms firmly around his father's waist, burrowing close to the man's warm chest, feeling safe for the first time in what felt like ages.

"I've got you," Tony said again.

They stayed quiet for a few minutes, before Tony spoke again, "What was that Peter?"

Peter tensed in his arms but made no move to extract himself from his father's embrace.

"Nightmare?" Tony asked, getting a vague nod in response.

Knowing if he pushed he'd cause the kid to clam up and he'd never get anything out of him, Tony nudged his son and they stood together, Tony keeping one arm slung over Peter's shoulders, keeping him tight against his side.

"Perfect night for a sleepover then," Tony said, eliciting a small smile from the teenager. They crossed the hallway to Tony's own room and the billionaire shifted his sheets and allowed Peter to crawl into bed before he slid in beside him, instructing FRIDAY to turn off the lights before he felt the telltale shifting of the mattress and his son's warmth pressed against his side with an audibly relieved exhale.

Tony lifted his arm and wrapped it around Peter's shoulders, drawing his son's head to rest on his chest. "Go to sleep, Peter."

"Night Dad," Peter mumbled, sleep once more dragging him under, though he let it this time, knowing Tony would be there to make sure he didn't suffocate.

"Night Pete," Tony replied.

He didn't sleep a wink that night, his entire focus on the young superhero in his arms. He may be a fearless, crime-fighting superhero to most, but to Tony he was just a kid in need of comfort and his own hero to fight off the monsters that plagued his dreams.


	2. Harsh Truths

Peter woke to the warm comfort of a breathing body underneath his. Confusion furrowed his brow before memory asserted itself and a light blush crept up his face, embarrassment coloring his sleepy face.

A light chuckle shook his frame and Peter opened his eyes to confront his father. "Hey," he mumbled, voice heavy and raspy with lingering sleep.

"Morning, sleeping beauty," Tony replied, smiling slightly at his son's obvious discomfort. He allowed the teenager to remove himself from the bed and watched as Peter stretched in the morning light streaming from the window. Tony knew to wait, knew Peter would tell him in due time what had had his unconscious self so freaked out last night the fear transferred to his conscious self.

They'd been through this before, father and son. Peter had nightmares about Germany, about Toomes…about May. Tony'd be damned if he let even one slip by without his reassurance that Peter was fine, that Tony was fine, that they were all _safe_.

But this time was different, this was something else. This wasn't being beat to a pulp, fighting his date's father, or even his aunt being crushed in a car accident. No, this was something else, something Peter hadn't told him about.

"I was suffocating, dying, I couldn't breathe," Peter murmured, still facing the window. His voice was distant, as if he wasn't there anymore, as if the simple retelling had dragged him back into that vivid reality. "He dropped a building on me."

"What?! Who? Peter!"

Peter whirled, tears in his eyes, as he advanced on his father. "Toomes. Before the beach, before the plane, he left me to _die_. Alone, Tony. _I was alone_."

Tony didn't think he'd ever heard such piercing words from anyone before. The hole ripping through his heart hurt worse than when he and Pepper had their falling out, hurt worse than being left in Siberia, being too late to save Rhodey. This was his kid. _His kid_. And he'd thought he'd been dying, that he'd die alone.

"No, Peter, no," Tony shook his head, fearing the worst as the tears finally fell from Peter's eyes.

The teen nodded and Tony's world crumbled. He'd taken the stupid suit, taken the only means of protection from the kid in hopes he'd listen, that the Spiderkid would back off and stay out of the warpath, stay safe. He had been stupid and naïve to hope, to even _think_ , that Peter would take that lying down. And to think Tony had had a hand in making his kid vulnerable to a madman like Toomes. Guilt weighed heavy, a lead weight that settled at the bottom of Tony's stomach.

"I'm so sorry," he blurted, the words tormented, shattered in a way Peter had never heard from the man before.

"No," Peter said, shaking his head, opening his mouth to continue before the billionaire could even think to interrupt.

Tony looked at his son, hurt and shocked, but was willing to accept the condemnation from Peter if that was what was needed for him to heal.

"No, dad," Peter said again, seeing the guilt and hurt already taking root in his father's eyes. "It was not your fault. I promise you I don't blame you. And I'm alive, right, so no harm done."

The last was said with the hint of a question, and Tony knew damn well his kid knew better than that. "Kid, you woke up in a full-blown panic last night. No way in hell was there no harm done. And that lays solely on me. If I hadn't taken the suit, you'd have been able to call me, to call for help. God, Pete, you wouldn't have been alone, you _aren't_ alone. You know that right? You know I'd never leave you?"

Peter's throat clogged and he offered a simple nod, giving into the urge to embrace the man he'd called dad for a few months now, seeking comfort from the only family he had left. He felt his heart grow a little stronger, a little more whole, when Tony's strong arms came up around him and held him tight.

"Alright," Tony said, pulling away from the hug a minute later, running a hand through his sleep-tossed hair and throwing a look out the window before focusing once more on his son. "So…breakfast?"


	3. Protective Families

_"Sir, Ms. Potts just arrived. She's on her way up, now."_

Tony gave an irritated huff at his AI and turned to his son, an apology on his lips. He didn't make it far though, as the kid was looking at him with a small smirk on his face. "Don't even pretend you don't want to see her. I'll go out as Spidey and be back in a bit. Take your time, dad." Peter turned to head back into his room, throwing a, "Hey, Pep," over his shoulder before disappearing around the corner.

"Hey Pete!" Pepper called, her heels clicking on the floor as she approached Tony, who had yet to turn around and see her for himself.

"We've got a problem."

Tony stiffened when he heard the seriousness in her voice. More often then not, she'd stop by just to check in with the billionaire and his newfound fatherhood, but obviously there was another agenda today. He turned to her with a quip on his tongue, but when he saw her face, etched with worry and…fear, he grit his teeth, that couldn't be good, he asked, "What's wrong?"

"It's Ross."

Tony's breath caught. There was only one thing that could have Pepper looking so scared.

 _Peter_.

* * *

Pepper waited with baited breath as Tony took in everything she'd told him. She knew how much he loved Peter, heck she loved the kid too, but Ross didn't see the young superhero as such. Ross saw untapped power and an uncontrollable superhuman. How he'd found out about Peter's abilities was on her mind, but it obviously wasn't the main point of concern.

 _Ross knew about Peter, about Spiderman. He's going to come for him, Tony._

The words played on repeat in his head, denial on the tip of his tongue, but Pepper's words rang with truth. That asshat had no idea what he was getting himself into if he thought for one moment Tony was going to let him take the kid away. _His_ kid.

No. Way. In. Hell.

"Have you talked to Fury?"

"He was my first call. He's looking into it. Obviously there was a breach somewhere, he's on it Tony. But we need to keep Peter out of this. There's no way Ross is going to take this lying down, and he'll be coming for him sooner rather than later. Peter's like no one any of us have seen before, he's a superhuman like Steve but obviously not government made. Ross is asking a lot of questions no one has answers to but that kid, Tony," Pepper said, her hands fisting at her sides as she contemplated the consequences of further action on the Secretary of State's part.

Tony wouldn't take any threat against his family lying down, of that she was sure. She'd been the target of Tony's hate groups more often than she could count, and each and every time he was there to pick her up, dust her off, and obliterate those who dared push her down in the first place. And that was with her. Pepper had no doubts Tony's feelings for the kid went way deeper than that. He'd found that primal, paternal protectiveness and there was no one that would get to Peter without first going through an irate and bristling Tony.

"Who else knows?" Tony asked, his voice deadly calm, his dark eyes boring holes into her own. Pepper almost took a step back, but she knew his anger wasn't directed at her, so she kept her stance firm, offering him some reassurance he wasn't alone.

"Fury, obviously, and I'm sure he told Nat and Clint. Those two always seem to be at his beck and call. Happy knows, he was there when I found out. But that's it. As for Ross, I don't know who he would've roped into this," Pepper told him, a frown on her face. If Ross had told the higher-ups, it was doubtful Tony would be getting any assistance on that front.

"It'll be okay, Peps," Tony assured her. "I've got Peter and there's no way he'll risk a direct assault on the compound, not with most of the Avengers currently living here. He'd have all-out war on his hands, and we all know he's not equipped to handle that. Especially not with Cap on the frontlines and the recent upheaval about everything that went down in Germany. The public loves us right now, because we're the face of security. We've got them in the bag, and Ross won't risk ruining that right now, not when, if he did attack, he'd have to justify why he's fighting Captain America on American soil over a personal vendetta. No, he's got something else up his sleeve…"

Tony trailed off as realization hit.

"Shit," he breathed, turning to the redhead with wide eyes before abruptly turning and disappearing down the hall.

He knew his kid was gone before he even reached his room.

 _I'll go out as Spidey and be back in a bit_.

"FRIDAY," he growled, moving back towards the living room, calling the suit as he went. He passed a baffled Pepper but didn't slow as he stalked towards the landing pad outside the patio doors.

"He isn't going after him as Peter. He's going after Spiderman," he told her, his voice dangerously thick, close to tears, as he tried to rein in the terror that threatened to consume his very being. His son was in danger and it was all his fault. He felt the suit come together across his torso, his hands and feet covered in the red and gold metal. The face plate was about to snap shut when he saw the anger flash across Pepper's face for the first time that day.

"You go get our boy, Tony Stark," she ordered. "I'll get everyone else up to speed."

And with that, he was gone, repulsors at full capacity, FRIDAY's voice directing him to where his son's GPS glowed on his display.

He watched the display with dread in his veins as it started to flicker, until the dot that had been leading him to Peter finally blinked out.


	4. Fear

Peter Parker was no stranger to fear. He'd been in the superheroing business too long to even remotely think he was fearless. His nightmares relayed those fears to him on a silver platter, one after another in vivid Technicolor that seared into his brain and continued on an endless loop.

No, Peter Parker knew he was afraid of things.

He'd just never known he was afraid of darkness.

Not until he woke up to it, when the pain in his head grew to excruciating levels and his limbs were stuck by his sides no matter how hard he tried to get them to move. His body pulsed to the beat of his heart, every cell awash with an agony unlike any he'd ever felt. He'd been hurt, fighting Vulture, gunshots, knives – Peter had been around the block a time or two. But nothing could have prepared him for this indescribable pain.

Through the haze that bogged down every thought, he tried to narrow down the agony, tried to pinpoint the source. After only a few moments he knew the effort was useless. It was everywhere.

Until it wasn't.

He didn't realize how tense his muscles were until his entire body relaxed and the air in his lungs didn't feel so suffocating anymore.

"Wh't," he stumbled, squinting in the darkness, as if it would help him distinguish something in the inky blackness.

"Ah, Peter Parker, back with us, I see."

The voice came from Peter's left and he turned his head lethargically that way, his loose limbs limp against his shaking body. Fine tremors travelled the length of him, overtaxed muscles spasming as they resumed their resting positions, exerting their obvious dislike for their previous state.

Peter couldn't blame them.

If this was what it felt like after working out, he's glad he never actually did it. And his metabolism kept him in tip top shape, so now he didn't even have to think about it.

A snap of fingers brought his attention back to the moment, his ragged breaths loud in the otherwise silent room.

"Lights, if you would," the voice said, immediately followed by bright lights illuminating the space.

A gasp escaped Peter's lips as the light stabbed through his skull like lightning, igniting the throbbing pain there and making him clamp down on a pained whimper. It took a few moments but he was able to squint his eyes against the harsh light. Another reason to hate the darkness, he figured.

Once opened, his eyes locked on the only other figure in the room, a gray haired man who stood taller than Peter, with unforgiving eyes and a dark suit.

Peter knew who he was simply because Tony hated the man with every fiber of his being.

"R-Ross."

"Ah, so you know who I am. Can't say I'm flattered, but," the Secretary of State shrugged his shoulders carelessly, "we're here to talk about you, Peter. Or should I call you Spiderman?"

It sunk in, then, what it meant, being here, with this man, and Peter's fear shot straight into terror. Secretary Ross wasn't supposed to know who he was, wasn't supposed to know about his web slinging activities. Tony had assured him of the fact, promised that Peter would never have to have anything to do with Ross, that his identity would never be found out by the pencil pushing asshole.

Tony was wrong, Peter was staring at the man right now, with a smirk on his wrinkled face and a glint in his eyes as he stared down at the young man at his mercy.

Peter felt his stomach clench, felt the tears burn the backs of his eyes, his breath catch in his lungs.

If Ross knew who he was, _what_ he was, there's no telling what he'd do.

Tony had told him that Ross had been hounding him for the identity of the masked vigilante swinging through New York saving helpless nobodies. Tony had flat out told his son that Ross would do anything to get his hands on him, take him apart, see how he ticks.

And here Peter was, lying on cold metal, staring up at the one man his father had adamantly told him to avoid like the plague.

Good job, Peter. Well done.

* * *

Thaddeus Ross stared down at the quivering young man before him. It had been easier to capture the Spiderman than he'd been led to believe. A specialized tranquilizer made specially for him, a couple teams of trained individuals armed with tranq guns, and here they were. Sure, he'd have more than a couple people out of commission for the foreseeable future, but to have Spiderman, Ross would have given up so many more.

And to think, the boy had been so close for so long. Ross shook his head in annoyance. Ever since Captain America and Tony Stark had reconciled their differences, things had been harder than ever for the Secretary of State. The Accords were on the outs, the people couldn't have cared less about Ross, and the Avengers were in the spotlight, forgiven and loved by all it would seem. And Stark had been all over him, amendments and ideas spewing forth and corrupting the very government Ross had tried so hard to build. And here it was, all falling to pieces, dust in the wind, because Stark had wanted so desperately to protect his son.

Peter Parker.

 _Yes, this will be fun_ , Ross thought, turning abruptly and exiting the small chamber, a firm nod to the man standing outside the door, and he continued down the hallway. He didn't need to see the procedures, didn't need to see the gore that would ensue. He just wanted results. Stepping and turning in the elevators, the first scream ripped down the corridor.

For a moment Ross thought of his own family, of what it would do to him to find his own flesh and blood torn apart and dissected, studied. A current of misgiving battled with the practical applications of the mutant's blood and he shrugged off the feather light weight of remorse.

With the click of a button, the doors closed on another agonized cry.


	5. To Ash

"He's gone. Peter's gone."

Tony's voice was barely recognizable, the defeat and pain that weighed down every word heard by all the Avengers that had gathered in the living room, their eyes wide as they watched Tony Stark fly through the open window, pieces of the suit falling off him like water.

His eyes were no better, hollow and broken, but fiery with a rage and unmistakable desire for blood that none of them had ever seen before.

They'd seen him angry, but they'd never seen him so desperately furious.

"Tony, we need to think about this. We can't just go at Ross with no evidence, with no plan, it's-"

"Steve," Bucky's voice held a low warning, his protective instincts on high alert. The little spider had managed to crawl his way into all their hearts, but Bucky had found a certain fondness for the superhero, one that obviously stemmed from protecting a young and impulsive Steve when they were kids. And Bucky saw in Tony what he'd seen in the mirror often enough when he'd been forced to confront the fact that there wasn't much he could to for Steve when he went off to war – he saw guilt and anger that festered into something that was all-consuming, a feeling of ultimate failure that was hard to turn back from. It changed a man, and Bucky could tell the affects weren't unrecognized by Tony.

He wasn't the owner of a company, he wasn't a billionaire or a philanthropist. He wasn't even an Avenger. He was a father. When you stripped everything else from him, that was what remained.

A father.

And his child had just been taken.

He was pissed as hell.

Stark stared through Steve, as if he wasn't seeing him. When he spoke next his words were weighted with emotion. "I'd fly through a hundred burning buildings for each of you, but for Peter…," he scoffed, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, "…for Peter I'd burn the whole damn world to ash."

* * *

"Yes, your security personnel weren't very effective. You may want to talk to them about that when they wake up."

Ross started when he heard the voice, the glass of water to his left toppling to the floor with the violent movement. A muffled curse left his lips as he turned to the intruder, not expecting to see Tony Stark out of the Ironman suit, so blatantly vulnerable before the Secretary.

If Ross thought he'd come unprepared, he was proved grossly mistaken when another form filtered in behind Stark. The Black Widow sauntered across the room, her eyes flitting around the space before coming to rest on Ross' face. Her eyes, as Ross had previously noted, were cold, lifeless, the eyes of a trained killer.

What he saw now were the eyes of a woman who had nothing more to lose. The eyes of a women who would do anything to get back what had been taken from her, and she wouldn't lose a wink of sleep over the blood she spilled in order to make that happen.

A light, humorless chuckle left Stark and Ross' gaze tracked to the man responsible for allowing this … _woman_ into his home.

It was only then he saw the bright flash of light on metal. It was only after he saw the willingness in Romanov's eyes to rip him limb from limb until he gave them what they wanted, that Ross saw the man standing behind Stark. Dark hair framed his face and the light from the lamp next to his desk shined brilliantly off his metal arm.

So this was the Winter Soldier, standing unequivocally behind Stark even after everything he had done.

Ross had underestimated his opponent. Severely, it would seem.

He had seen a billionaire, an eccentric, high maintenance man with little to lose. He was everyone's favorite, always in the lime light, the press at his beck and call. And then he'd gone and adopted young Peter Parker, and he'd left the press, hell everyone, out of the loop. He'd kept the kid hidden at the compound so he could mourn the loss of his aunt, and he'd kept the adoption hush hush. Ross hadn't even known about it until less than a week previous, and he kept vigilant eyes on the Avengers at all times.

He had not expected the kid to have such an impact on Stark. And looking back now, he shouldn't have been surprised. The man's escapades had dwindled into nothing, his previously flaunted relationship with Pepper Potts was no longer the topic of discussion, nor was his subsequent falling out with the copper haired woman. Tony Stark's name hadn't been in the press for months, another sign that should have alerted Ross to the shifting of priorities for the billionaire.

When he spoke, Ross' voice shook slightly, and he cursed the smirk on Tony's face when he heard it. "Did you kill them?"

"They'll wake up. Eventually."

The answer was given in Widow's husky voice, razor sharp and lethal.

"What do you want? You know I could have you arrested for this?" Ross demanded, standing before the two invaders.

The fine control Stark had been hanging onto snapped and Ross had no time to react before the fist was colliding with his face. He had no control as his body followed the blow, staggering him into the glass table upon which he'd been working. A drop of blood dripped off his chin and onto the opaque surface, vivid red amidst the cloudy glass.

"Well," he started, shrugging his shoulders slightly and straightening, his hand cupping slightly under his nose. Stark was staring at him, rage and promise of pain bright in his eyes that Ross had no doubt was sincere.

He had no recourse, not for this.

He'd expected legal war, expected Steve Rogers to take control and the war to be waged in the light of day.

Ross had not expected the cloak and dagger approach, not from the Avengers everyone raged about.

Though, looking back, he should have. Stark was no coward, and always went after what he wanted. The woman at his side thrived in the shadows. The metal armed man was no stranger, he'd often been on the news, and Ross knew he was no stranger to clandestine violence. It had been naïve of him to think he'd be allowed to sit comfortably in his home and watch them fall apart with no blow black.

"What is it you want?"

The Winter Soldier's smirk turned feral and Ross tried and failed to hide a frightened flinch, "Your life for Peter's, or this gets much more fun than a broken nose."

* * *

Pain radiated up his arm from the split knuckles, and judging by the swelling and discoloration, likely a broken finger. But Tony Stark ignored it, pushed it far away until it barely registered.

 _"Sir, it would appear-"_

"Leave it," Stark growled, knowing his AI was attempting to comment on his wounds, but he wasn't having any of it. He wasn't about to let them go get Peter on their own. He needed to be there, Peter needed him to be there.

God, what he done…

Ross' bloody face, slumped in a corner, a frightened glint in his eye, was enough to make Tony see red. The man had taken everything from him. He'd taken Peter. His heart, his soul. He'd taken his son, and all Tony could do was imagine the agony his son was going through waiting for his family to come get him.

Tony had vetoed Steve's presence, much to the satisfaction of Natasha and Bucky. They'd all seen the hesitance in his eyes as they executed their plan: find and ask Ross where Peter was. Simple as that. There was no need for intricately lain plans, the end result would have been the same; Peter back at the compound surrounded by his family, and Ross rotting away somewhere he'd never be found.

Natasha and Bucky had been firmly in his corner, and no one disputed them. Bruce looked a little green around the edges, his veins bulging with barely constrained anger, and he'd stayed back so the big guy wouldn't make a scene. Ross would have been dead before they could get any answers and there would be little use to the man then.

Clint, Vision, and Wanda all stayed back to keep Cap from doing anything stupid like try to stop them. Vision saw the usefulness to their plan, but couldn't be part of it. Wanda would have loved to participate, Ross had kept her chained like an animal for too long for her to let it go, but she'd seen the hesitation in Steve's eyes and had decided she'd be more useful at his side, to soothe his wounded sense of duty.

Clint had been very vocal about his acceptance of the plan. He loved Peter, everyone did, and anyone who could look at the kid and see nothing but an out of control mutant needed to be put down with extreme prejudice. But he'd hung back, knowing his anger would cloud his judgement and he needed to be clearheaded when the shit hit the fan and blew back on them.

Rhodey had been the hardest to convince. Peter was the nephew he never thought he'd have. He'd seen the positive effect the kid had on Tony and reveled in the change he, himself, had never been able to bring. Rhodey had wanted to be by Tony's side when they confronted to the piece of trash Secretary, but he'd been reminded of his place in all of this. He was still a willing participant in the government. To even have his presence known on Ross' property would shoot up all sorts of red flags and make things much more difficult in the long run. He'd been more or less ordered to stay behind.

Thor had been a toss-up. He had no problems with the violence Tony had proposed, reveled in it even. He was a god born for war, but he knew that stealth was the priority. They were to get Ross out of his home and to the compound with a minimum of fuss. And Thor would admit he was anything but stealthy, especially when he was angered. And to say he was angry was a crude understatement. He, too, had been left behind.

So the three unlikely companions had set out to complete their objective.

The bloody and, frankly, satisfying interrogation had lasted longer than any of them had hoped. It was obvious upon first confronting Ross that he'd been surprised by their blatant law breaking. Tony had scoffed at the man's audacity. He'd abducted a teenager off the streets and was currently doing who knows what with him at the moment, and he had the nerve to believe that Tony would follow the rules.

Tony had no qualms whatsoever of taking the rules, setting them aflame, and throwing them at Ross' feet. There were no rules when it came to Peter Parker. When it came to his son, his ultimate goal was _Protect_. With Ross in the way, that goal was unattainable. Thus, Ross needed to be removed.

The Secretary had given them what they wanted once Tony entered the picture. Natasha and Bucky were thorough, the elegant to Tony's brutal. He showed not an ounce of mercy for the imbecile, not a shred of humanity as he took from tender flesh that which he needed.

They left Ross to Fury, told him the necessities and let him make his own conclusions. Fury hadn't liked what he'd heard and kept the man's subsequent incarceration in an unknown location on the downlow.

The news would report his surprising disappearance within the following days. There would be no leads as to his whereabouts. A replacement would be needed.

Life would go on.

But Tony's current preoccupation was with the compound he was now approaching. Thor streaked across the sky like an avenging angel, Rhodey close to Tony as they made their descent in the woods surrounding the building that held the youngest Avenger.

The other Avengers followed shortly in the Quinjet, their urgency apparent as they all slipped from the jet's confines as soon as the wheels touched the ground.

"We need a plan of attack," Steve said, and Tony could barely contain a smile at the familiar phrase before he snapped shut his helmet and looked back at Cap, "I have a plan. _Attack_." The other Avengers let out an unconscious huff as Ironman took to the skies, his eyes locked on target.

 _I'm coming for you, Pete, just hold on._


	6. Testing

Peter regained consciousness much faster this time. His mind no longer thick with fog, it was easy for his senses to tell him exactly where he was. Well, relatively at least.

He was lying prone on the same metal table as before, though now it was thoroughly crusted with blood. _His_ blood. He shuddered at the thought, his wrists and ankles, bound tightly to the table with thick metal bands, chafing against their restrains and bringing fresh blood out of the barely healed wounds from his agonized struggles.

His left clavicle was clearly still broken, jutting out grotesquely, and apt to heal wrong if not put back into place properly. _Bruce is going to have a field day with me when I get back_ , he thought with fond amusement. Bruce always hounded him for getting into trouble. _Just wait_ , Peter thought. _And this time I wasn't even doing anything_.

Ross had yet to make a reappearance, and while that made Peter happy he doubted it was a good thing. To Peter, the man's disappearance meant he spent more time with the so-called physicians that insisted upon breaking bone after bone, dousing his bloodstream with who knows what, and cutting him open to play with his insides.

He'd heard two of the insane doctors speaking rapidly outside the door to his veritable cell and hadn't been happy with the resulting conclusion: they had been curious to see if his internal organs healed as swiftly as external trauma did. They did, but not at quite the level they were expecting.

Which led to more "testing" to figure out why.

If they came to a conclusion, Peter didn't know it.

But the internal voyages tapered off until all that remained was the forceful shattering of bone and the perpetual agony they left him in.

First it had been his left leg, then his arm. Since then they'd been more creative. They broke his right cheekbone, shattered a few ribs. The most painful had been his pelvis. Even now, and Peter had no idea how long he'd been here, but it felt like _ages_ , it was painful to move himself even slightly, his pelvis taking the full force of his weight whenever he did so. His leg had knit quickly, but each subsequent break had healed slower and slower, the pain and trauma heaping upon itself, as if his healing factor was getting backed up.

It seemed to astonish the men torturing him, invigorated them, egged them on to do more damage.

Peter's throat was shredded, his screams had lasted only as long as his voice had held out, and even then, the vocalization of his agony was unavoidable. Hands dug into his skin, fracturing precious bone, toying with organs, and measuring blood and administered chemicals.

It was only after his voice had died out that his captors seemed to realize that that was also an avenue by which they could entertain themselves. _For science, of course_ , Peter thought sarcastically, his eyes glued to the square light fixture above him – his only constant.

The short, balding doctor had looked down at his victim with something akin to fascination and nodded to someone over Peter's shoulder. He felt the fog descend upon him with startling speed, his consciousness fading into darkness.

The next time he had awoken, his throat had been flayed, his voice deadened, gone.

Hot tears had escaped down his tormented cheeks and dampened his filthy hair. They'd taken his voice, the one thing upon which he'd always depended. Even before he was Spiderman, he'd always been able to vocalize his thoughts, his emotions, defend himself. His voice was his outlet, his way of communicating when other avenues were closed to him.

Now it was gone, ripped from him like so many other things.

 _Oh May, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry,_ he thought, fresh tears breaking free at the thought of his aunt. She'd always believed in him, thought him strong and capable of any and everything he set his mind to. _"You are a brilliant young man,"_ she had told him once, upon seeing his face swollen from schoolyard bullies, her eyes bright with unshed tears, alight with pride and soft with affection, _"and one day you will be better than all of us. Peter, there is nothing you cannot do. Remember that. That I will always love and support you, no matter what. I will always,_ always _, be in your corner."_ She'd hugged him, then, a teary, eleven-year-old version of himself, and she'd held him tightly to her chest, as if afraid to let him go.

When she had found out about Spiderman, she had been understandably upset. Well…furious. But for some reason she never once questioned why. She ranted and raged at his stupidity for going out and getting himself shot at, but she never asked _why_. Peter had confronted her about it, once, and she'd seemed so taken aback, as if she'd never even thought about it. Her answer had been so simple, but it had nearly driven Peter to tears. She had looked her nephew in the eyes and bluntly said, _"Because I know you, Peter, and you're a better man that one who would stand on the sidelines and let people get hurt when you could do something about it. I raised you, Peter Parker. And your power is to protect the little guy. That is your responsibility."_

But now Peter was alone.

So dreadfully alone.

His cell was quiet, the only sounds his erratic breathing.

His ravaged throat convulsed with each swallow, his stinging eyes dripping errant tears.

His mind was a whirlwind of terror and acceptance.

He had no way of knowing when – if? – rescue would come in time.

But he had faith in Tony. In his father. Peter's eyes slipped shut at the thought of the man. He was safety, he was warmth, he was _home_. And he would come for Peter, of that he was certain. Tony Stark would never leave him in the hands of Ross and his henchmen, never allow his kid to undergo this agonizing torture. Even now, Peter was sure, Tony was out there wreaking havoc and tearing through all the bullshit Ross was sure to have thrown his way.

Tony was smart.

Tony would see through it.

His father, his dad, would come for him.

That was the only certainty upon which Peter dared rely.

The door to his cell suddenly smashed in and Peter's eyes snapped open to evaluate the man who stood over him. Baldy was becoming more familiar as the days passed. His hair was nearly gone, a few loose strands atop his head completed the repulsive visage, his eyes obstructed by large bifocals and a thready mustache sat atop his upper lip. His teeth were a mess, and when he smiled, thick lines creased his eyes and made him look like an escaped ward from a mental institution. Peter hated the man on principle, but after everything he'd done, Peter wanted to drag the man by his precious ten hairs and relieve him of his teeth. One by one. And then keep going.

Peter shut his eyes, trying desperately to block out the sight of the man, drowning his field of vision with heavy eyelids.

He'd learned from the beginning that they liked to see his reaction, liked to watch his eyes. As soon as he'd figured that out, he'd kept his eyes closed, refused them the only thing he could.

He kept his eyes to himself, and thus far they'd allowed it.

Peter had no doubts they'd eventually get there. They'd take his sight just as they'd taken his voice. And then they'd once more move on, as if they hadn't already torn him to shreds only to allow his body to slowly piece itself together into a monstrous version of its previous self.

A distant _boom_ shook the very foundation of Peter's being.

A wail cut through the silence like a hot knife through butter.

The physicians talked rapidly to each other, their fear overriding their need for secrecy.

Peter didn't catch all of it, but he got enough.

A sudden feeling of relief poured through him.

He knew who they were talking about.

 _Dad._


	7. Rescue

Tony Stark knows pain. He has an intimate relationship with agony, both physical and emotional. His time in Afghanistan showed him the intimate brutality of man, a brutality he'd been far removed from when before all he had done was create weaponry that allowed the user to be a safe distance away from the mayhem. Being up close and personal with that chaos changed everything. _Ironman_ changed everything. He thought that would be enough, that Ironman would make him a better person, but Pepper had other ideas. She had stepped into his life when he'd needed her most and he'd thought _now_ I've done it, I've found it, that thing everyone wants, that everyone needs. He'd found family. But it seemed the universe wasn't done with him yet. The Avengers had become a thing, the Asgardians had come to play, and Cap made that huge mess with his shield and that one-armed guy.

Then it had all gone to hell and Tony'd been chucked into the deep end of emotional trauma, augmented by the physical when Cap left him fighting for breath in Siberia. It wasn't only his body that had given out, then, but his soul, too. He'd felt his whole world shatter, watched as Pepper tried to keep him together, but had been unsuccessful. He had always known she was too good to be true, but she had finally reached the point where she couldn't take it anymore, and it's not like he could blame her. He was a train wreck. Rhodey and Happy told him so all the time. They tried, they really did, to keep him together, but they weren't what the billionaire needed.

No, apparently, he'd needed a teenaged superhero that went around saving little old ladies and cats in trees. Who knew, right? He'd taken the kid to help him fight Steve and then they'd parted ways, but then the whole ferry thing had happened and – God – Aunt May, and then Tony realized he'd been dragged into the kid's life. Thing was, he didn't mind. He craved the days Peter would come over and they'd get lost in the lab for hours that turned into days until Peter eventually had to leave. The kid had brains, but what really drew Tony to him was his heart. His pure, innocent heart that had survived so much pain. He was as damaged as Tony was, had seen so much death and despair that he had every right to be as broken and jaded as his so-called mentor. But the kid kept getting back up, kept fighting the good fight because he knew that there were good people out there, they just did bad things every now and then. Pepper, Rhodes, and Happy were his family and he loved them, but damnit if the kid hadn't become Tony's heart and soul.

It wasn't until May's fatal car crash that it finally dawned on Tony how far he'd actually go for the kid. The second he'd heard Peter's broken, "Tony," the billionaire had been in the suit and flying to his location without hesitation, Avengers meeting be damned. He'd found Peter crumpled in a Social Services office off the main hallway of the hospital where they'd taken May and Tony had broken right alongside the sobbing teenager, taking the heaving form in his arms and whispering words of reassurance until words finally failed him. And still he had held him. He had drawn up adoption papers the very next day, seeing as May had appointed him Peter's guardian in case of her untimely death. He'd been honored and surprisingly confident when he'd told her he would absolutely look after the kid should something happen to her.

He'd never, not in a million years, expected that reality to come.

But it did.

And Peter suffered the same pain Tony had. He was an orphan. Again. But Tony made a promise to him in that dingy hospital, after the tears had dried up and Peter lay limply in Tony's arms. "You and me, kid. It's you and me against the world now. I've got you, Pete, I promise, and I'm not going anywhere." And come hell or high water, Tony vowed he'd never break that promise, that he'd never leave the kid high and dry, that he'd always be there.

Then pepper had come knocking and everything had blown up in his face.

He had barely ten months with the kid, only scarce months of the honored title 'Dad' under his belt, and yet it felt like a lifetime. It wasn't enough. It wasn't nearly enough.

His repulsors blew through the compound with ease, throwing assailants out of his way before they could even think of attacking. They had Peter, they had his _son_. They didn't stand a chance.

When Tony finally threw open the right door, his stomach clenched, and his throat burned with bile. The tiny room reeked of blood and antiseptic, of pain and agony. Tony's eyes were immediately drawn to the figure bound to the table in the middle of the room. Machinery flew apart as he threw the balding scientist away from the still form with enough force to shatter his sternum and pierce his heart. The man was dead before he hit the floor. Tony let the other flee the room, knowing they had no chance of escape.

"Peter," Tony choked on his son's name as he took in the damage done to his kid's body. The red and raw wounds scattered across every inch of the kid's once pale and generally unmarred skin alighted a rage like Tony had never known, but his touch was gentle as he stepped from the suit and lightly set his palm on Peter's face.

And then he saw those beautiful brown doe eyes that never failed to get the kid whatever he wanted. Not that Tony would ever deny his kid anything, but it paid to know the kicked puppy worked on even Tony Stark's famed cold heart.

"Oh, kid, what did they do to you?" Tony muttered, running his hand through the disheveled hair and finding his hand coated with blood. His heart stuttered with alarm, but he focused on the eyes still locked on him. Peter still had yet to say anything and that was even more concerning than the blood on Tony's hand.

"Pete, I need you to say something, buddy," he implored, a pained inhale his only response as his kid's eyes flooded with tears and sobs racked the thin frame.

"Alright, alright," Tony assured, quickly backtracking as his attention went to the metal bands keeping Peter in place. "I'll get you out of these cuffs and we'll take you over to Brucie and he'll fix you right up. How does that sound?"

Shaking was all he got and the nervous ball of worry and guilt in Tony's gut grew exponentially. Something was really wrong with the kid and he'd be damned if he kept him here one second longer than absolutely necessary.

"Boss, Mr. Rogers is inquiring whether or not you have found Peter. I have assured him of your success in that regard, should I give them our location?"

FRIDAY's voice shattered Tony's concentration and he turned to the suit behind him, having completely forgotten it, and the team. "Uh, yea FRI, tell them I'll meet them at the jet. I've got Peter but he's in really bad shape. I'm taking him out of here and to Bruce as soon as I get him out of the restraints."

"Understood, boss," the AI confirmed.

Tony hesitated before turning back to his son, drawing one of the gauntlets from the suit and enshrouding his hand. "Alright, I'm going to burn through the cuffs and I'll have you out of here in no time, okay kiddie?"

At Peter's weak nod, Tony made quick work of the restrains and shucked the metal glove before reaching for his son. He didn't have to, Peter had leveraged himself up with surprising strength and had practically thrown himself from the table in his search for his father. Tony wrapped his arms firmly around the trembling form and held him close. He felt his kid's ribs and tamped out the resurging anger that it fueled. None of that would help Peter now.

"Alright, I'm going to carry you to the jet, okay? It's not that far away, but it's going to hurt. It looks like your leg is pretty messed up and your ribs are damaged all to hell, and don't think I didn't see that collarbone jutting out of place either. But I've got to get you out of here, okay?" Tony asked, his voice hoarse with emotion as he slowly catalogued the trauma done to Peter's body. They'd wrecked him, that much was obvious. The incisions on his abdomen and chest had Tony taking harsh breaths to reign in the tears that threatened to fall. It was the shaking hand that pointed to Peter's throat that did him in. The incision there was one of the freshest, red and inflamed, he saw the reason for Peter's silence.

Tony let the tears fall as he wrapped himself carefully around his son. Those bastards had taken his voice, the voice that had, on countless occasions, been the only one Tony would listen to, had been the voice of calm and reason that got through to Tony when nothing else could. It was the voice of Peter Parker, of Spiderman, of Tony's kid, and it was gone. "I'm so sorry kiddo, God, I'm so sorry."

Peter's right arm, the one not sporting the misshapen clavicle, wrapped around Tony's shoulder as Tony's arm went under the kid's knees and behind his back before slowly lifting him from the table. Peter tensed before going completely limp and Tony was grateful the kid would be free of pain at least for a little while. Resetting the broken bones was going to be hell and Peter would need all the rest he could get to restore his depleted reserves.

The kid clutched gently in his embrace, Tony told the suit to keep guard and made his way out of the compound. He heard the other Avengers over comms, heard their grunts and curses as they took out the enemy, as the entire operation was shut down and dismantled, but none of that mattered to him anymore. He had precious cargo in his arms and he'd be damned if he let anyone or thing get close enough to touch a hair on his precious curled head ever again.


	8. Dr Cho

**Sorry this has taken so long! But rest assured, this fic has not been forgotten and will be slowly updated. My apologies, but thank you to all of you still reading and following!**

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The terror that coursed through Tony's veins as he put his kid on a gurney and had to stand back and watch as doctors swarmed him and took him away was enough to keep any man up at night, let alone a battle weary superhero that had seen far too much.

Bruce had been suspiciously tinged green when Tony had deposited Peter in the jet and he'd set to work immediately on the kid, calling orders left and right that Tony hastened to follow. But it wasn't enough and even Bruce's know-how and confidence couldn't fix Peter. He'd need surgery, to reset broken bones, and see what, exactly, had been done to the teenager. Tony was disgusted at the fact that his boy had to endure such things. With him, it was different. He'd done and seen things he would never wish on anyone, but to have Peter, sweet, innocent Peter be put in the middle of something as masochistic as Ross' torture chamber? That was a torture in and of itself for a man who would give anything to have traded places with the kid. Anything.

Hours passed and still no news of Peter.

Tony was losing his mind, and the others in the waiting room could see it, too. See the terror shining in the older man's eyes, see the tears that had so far been kept in check threaten repeatedly to spill over, see the exhaustion and grief that poured off him in waves.

"Tones."

Rhodey's voice broke the uncomfortable silence when no one else dared to. He'd seen Tony Stark at his lowest, dragged him from the dregs of a liquor bottle too many times to count, and yet he kept coming back.

He was Tony's best friend, no doubt, but even he hadn't ever seen the billionaire like this.

Rhodey had been afraid when Peter had been taken, afraid that he'd lose Tony when they lost Peter, and he had absolutely no doubts that they would have. Peter was the linchpin that kept Tony grounded. He was the soul inhabitant of the mechanic's heart. Without Peter, Tony would let himself wither away and die. It was just a fact, one that they had all accepted over time.

But it was this, this… _after_ that Rhodey had not accounted for. He didn't think they would have to deal with a volatile Tony after they had the kid back. He didn't think Peter would be so incapacitated that he couldn't soothe the frazzled being that was Tony Stark.

The man in question flinched at the noise and turned to Rhodey with bloodshot eyes ringed in black. The man was exhausted, but he couldn't let himself drop, couldn't give into the necessities of his body until he knew his boy would be alright. Then he could let go. Then, and only then, could he sleep.

"What Rhodey?"

The words, themselves, dripped with fatigue and made Rhodey cringe.

"Why don't you sit down, man? The doc will be out when he has news about Peter."

Before he was done speaking, Tony was shaking his head, his listless body once more reversing and walking in the same line he had been for hours. Tony knew if he sat down, if he stopped moving for even a moment, he'd shatter. He'd break into a million pieces that wouldn't be put back together again.

And Peter didn't need that.

Peter needed his dad to be strong, needed him to hold him and protect him from any and everything that dared look at the kid wrong.

Tony would be that for his son. He would be the man that he always wanted his own father to be, and he would do it no matter the personal cost.

"He can't speak."

That startled them all; every Avenger blinked in shock at Tony's declaration.

But Tony wasn't paying any attention to them. Once he spoke, the words kept coming. "They took his voice. They cut my kid open and took his voice. You didn't see him; the utter terror in those Bambi eyes, the sheer, wanton _fear_ that consumed his whole being until he saw who had walked through the door. And the absolute relief that it was me nearly sent me to my knees, Rhodey. But I was too late. My kid can't _speak_ , Rhodes, he can't. Fucking. Speak."

"He might, actually."

Helen Cho never thought she'd seen the waiting room so full before. Every Avenger was there, sprawled out on every available surface, eyes glued to Tony Stark as the words spilled out. Helen listened silently from the corner, allowing Tony to vent, but as soon as she caught on, she knew she had to correct his assumption.

When they all turned on her, every single one of them springing to their feet in anticipation, she almost took a step back. But the widening of Stark's eyes and the expectation on her face drew her in. She focused on him and only him, drowning the rest of them out. She had a patient and he needed her to be strong for him.

"Peter's vocal chords were operated on, but they aren't damaged beyond repair. Even with his speed healing, though, I wouldn't count on him being able to speak for a while yet. I'll keep an eye on them, but they should repair themselves fairly nicely on their won. If they don't, I'll go in and help him out a bit. I've worked with the Cradle enough to know how to amplify its effects onto a specific area and that should do the trick if his healing doesn't take care of it before then.

"Beyond that, he's got a broken collar bone that has been set, multiple breaks in his arms and legs that had to be rebroken because they were allowed to heal wrong. They're in soft casts now, but they won't be for long so long as we get his nutrient intake up. They didn't keep him fed or pump him with nutrients, so his healing factor slowed to a crawl. That's why his vocal chords didn't heal as quickly as they normally would have. If he'd been on a healthy diet, he'd have been up and speaking within a few days. But they backed him up, so to speak, with all the injuries they piled on him in one go.

"We did an exploratory surgery of his abdomen, over one of the previous surgical incisions, to see what was done firsthand." Helen paused to breathe at this juncture, her own stomach almost rebelling at the memory of the kid's internal organs and the damage that had been inflicted there. But one look at Tony's face was enough to get her to continue. He needed all the facts, all of the horrific things that had been done to his son needed to be spoken aloud and dealt with by all present before they even began to help their kid.

"Peter's bones will heal, given time, as we all know. But we've never had occasion to see what his internal organs do under the same circumstances. The sad fact is that his organs are a mess. They remove his spleen – the organ that helps the body fight infections – so he'll be more susceptible to infections. His entire inner workings were compromised, each one bearing the mark of a scalpel. I don't know if they were aiming for research or plain torture, but they sure as hell delivered on the latter.

"His liver is missing a section, but that will grow back, as I said, in time. His left lung has been re-inflated twice and has two different punctures in it. One, I'd say, is from a rib that broke off and lacerated it. The other is undoubtedly from a knife, which corresponds with a scar on his chest. His right lung doesn't show signs of deflating, but it also carries its own number of scars. From what, I can only guess. His intestines were slashed here and there, looks like they wanted to test his healing factor, because I can't fathom of any other reason."

Helen hesitated before continuing, looking at the group around her. She didn't want to tell him this, but knew she had to. "His heart, uh, his heart is in bad shape. He came in with an abnormal rhythm and so far, he shows no signs of improvement. The arrhythmia could be from a number of things, but I think he was subject to an electric current at some point that damaged part of his heart. I don't know if his healing will take care of it in the end, I'm not an expert in his genetic makeup, but normal hearts don't recover from trauma like that. I'm sorry, Stark," she said, watching as the man's face blanched and crumpled. She could see the fight drain out of him as he slumped against Steve, who had come up next to him and grip the billionaire's arm.

Helen had seen too much of the Avengers to be shocked by their strength, but she was still slightly surprised when Tony took a shuddering breath, shook of Steve's supporting hand, and straightened. He looked her dead in the eye and asked the only question he could, "Can I see him?"


End file.
